


Your heart is my Home

by Ohtd_luv4ever



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Bofur, BoFA, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Feels lots of Feels, Fluff, M/M, Sadness, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtd_luv4ever/pseuds/Ohtd_luv4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots sometimes two shots for every pairing under the sun for the Hobbit, some will be heartrending some will be fluffy, all I hope will be enjoyed. </p>
<p>The titles of new stories will be added under the older ones as posted with a 'new' at the end of the name, please heed the added tags and warnings for each story. </p>
<p>The starter notes will have a list of what to look out for, if you dont think youll like some of the warned about parts please skip to another story more to your liking. </p>
<p>Stories so far:</p>
<p>Of Fur Hats and Arkenstones </p>
<p>Of Oakenshields and Wooden Toys "new'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Fur Hats and Arkenstones

**Author's Note:**

> All credit for Hobbit and other Middle earth works goes to Tolkien. 
> 
> warnings for this story include the ones mentioned in the tags. 
> 
> Ok, So here’s a drabble I came up with from the depths of my fan heart born from the love of toy making funny hat wearing dwarves paired with majestic kings. Lots of Feels here be warned that I may decide to make you cry. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Of Fur Hats and Arkenstone’s. 

 

Bofur Broadbeam was not a happy prisoner. Sure he was safe and comfortable enough, and well fed now that they were out of that thrice blasted forest, but everyone was in a different cell and no one had heard anything about their king. That was the reason that he was ready to gnaw through the bars of his cell and go looking for the royal dwarf elves or no elves be damned.

Leaning his head against the cool wall of his tiny prison, the toymaker looked out the gaps in the metal that made up his cell door and let out a heavy sigh. There was nothing to do now but wait. Slowly the dwarf felt his mind wandering, back through the years to the place that he had called home for much of his younger life. The memories were fond ones, but now they were also painful due to the fact that said memories revolved around certain missing people from the Company. Still, the memories were something to ponder on that kept his mind from whirling in agitated circles so Bofur let himself get lost in remembering. 

The first time that Bofur knew that his heart was stolen from him was in the blue mountains in the city of Eren Luid, when he and his kin were making toys and mining to scrape by day to day. He had a small cart that he set up during market days when the greatest number of children could be counted on to be wandering about and looking for something to amuse them selves with. 

The boxes filled with the toys of wood, stone and even a few clockwork pieces were laid out around the carts open back, the toys standing sitting or laying on the bottom of the upturned boxes as improvised stands. Dusting wooden shavings off of his oddly shaped fur lined hat, Bofur had climbed out of the cart and started his work day the same as any other when he was at market. 

Playing his flute was a good way to pass the time when there were no customers and attract attention to his humble little cart, so play Bofur did, and soon enough a small flock of children were drawn to the sound. Some of the adults that frequented the area had called the dwarf a kindly pied piper; though unlike the piper of the stories Bofur didn’t want to steal them away, just have them play with the toys he brought. 

There weren’t many dwarrow children about Eren Luid, so when his cart was suddenly beset by two loud and happy dwarf children it brought a smile to the miner and toymakers face. They were obviously brothers, as they bickered and made up as quickly as blood kin of his kind did. They also had dwarvish clothing and beads on them that told of their identity. One of them, the younger one, spotted a carved and painted knight on a horse that was perched near Bofur’s carving tools. It was still drying, as it was just completed a few minuets earlier and when the toymaker saw the lad go scrambling to get a closer look, he neatly scooped the small brown haired energetic lad onto his knee instead, getting the attention of the big liquid brown eyes and holding it so he could explain why the boy couldn’t have the toy. 

“Hold up there lad, that ones not dry yet, give it a few more minuets to finish then ye can play with it.”

When the lad had nodded obediently, Bofur smiled at him and pulled a bit of rock candy from his pocket, handing it to the youngster who squealed out a thank you and stuffed the candy into his mouth. Chuckling Bofur set the lad back down onto the cobblestones and watched as he scurried off to the other child, this one with bright blond hair and more braids than the younger brother. 

Looking at the pair curiously, Bofur entertained some of the other children until they left, and as lunchtime neared most of the human lads and lasses had scurried off to go to their families. But the dwarrow brother’s parents had not showed up. When noon rolled around and a parent had yet to show up, Bofur approached the boys and gave a short bow to them, his naturally infective smile on his face. 

“Hello lads, Bofur at yer service. Seeing as your parents haven’t shown up, id be delighted if ye would join me for a spot of lunch. Does that sound agreeable?”

From the enthusiastic thank you’s that he received and the exuberant hugs to his legs, it was. Smiling more, Bofur led the duo back to the cart and settled them on it, bringing out the picnic lunch he had brought along. As they sat and ate, Bofur learned a great deal about his guests, including that they had snuck away from their uncle during shopping and that their names were Fili and Kili. Shaking his head at the mischief of the two lads, Bofur had a feeling that his little stand was going to get a visit from a very worried and furious dwarven uncle soon enough. 

Not 10 minuets later as he and the lads were finishing off a bowl of fresh strawberries together, the unmistakable drawl of a dwarf speaking westron crashed across the squares nearly peaceful atmosphere. The voice was deep and rough with worry, and the sound of it sent a shiver down Bofur’s spine. A glance at the boys showed their guilty faces, and cemented the thought that this would be their uncle looking for them. Bofur took in the sight of a well built dwarf that was looking around the square searchingly, and when the gaze landed on the lads sitting in his cart relief softened the harsh worry lines on the handsome face. Then anger replaced the relief and Bofur inwardly was quite glad that it was not him that had caused such anger. 

Kili hid behind Bofur as the lad’s uncle approached and the toymaker let the small boy use him as a shield, turning his attention to the charging warg that had disguised itself as a dwarf. Up close the male was twice as stunning as Bofur had originally thought, with sparking blue eyes and a handsome beard. Twin braids fell in front of his temples, the rest of the black and silver adorned mane flowing free around his shoulders. Bofur was ignored for the first few minuets of the encounter; instead the boy’s uncle chewed out his kin. When the boys looked sufficiently sorry, Bofur decided to step in and intervene. 

“If I may, the lads were just fine, they came and played for abit and we had lunch. It was no trouble at all to watch them, and id rather they were here than wandering about on their own.”

Then he smiled at the imposing figure, seeing a line of tension slowly bleed out of the form and then those icy blue eyes were locked with his own mocha orbs and Bofur knew that he was lost. 

Dwarves can love only once with their whole soul and mind and heart, they call the concept the finding of their One, and Bofur had found his in the stern countenance of Fili and Kili’s uncle. 

When he found out just who the family was however, several weeks later and after the establishment of a firm if faintly distant friendship; his heart was devastated. For what king would want a simple toymaker for a spouse? So for the next 50 years Bofur hid his love for the dwarven king, translated it into a family love for the young princes that the majestic royal was raising. He stayed close and offered his help and a casual companionship when it was accepted, and suffered in silence the mourning of his lonely existence. 

So of course when his king called for volunteers for the Erebor quest, Bofur humbly offered his services, as did Bifur and Bombur, simply happy that they were to be part of the great adventure that was to come. 

Now of course they were in the elfish dungeons in Mirkwood, and Bofur was going insane from worry and his own traitor thoughts. The words what and if are two very non threatening little sounds on their own, but put them together and even the strongest of warriors cannot help but succumb to their sirens song of regrets. 

So when the forms of two Elvin guards appeared outside his cell before the next meal was to arrive, Bofur was highly confused and very wary. They pulled him from his cell and marched him away into the dark dungeon depths, ignoring the loud threats and angry cries of the rest of the company. Bofur didn’t even have time to call out a comforting word to his kin, being pulled along quickly and only stopping when they arrived at a non conspicuous little wooden door a good ways from the rest of the cells.   
The taller of the two males looked down imperiously at Bofur, his voice cold and with a mocking undertone to it.

“Our king has ordered you to be brought here, as he has a theory that he wishes to test. Your king is in that room, in need of a specific help to ease his suffering from a drug that was given to him. You will go and tend to him. If he finds out your identity know that you will never see him again.”

Bofur just looked at the elf incredulously, hardly daring to believe what the guard was telling him could be true, but the voice held no lie nor did the eyes. Even as a fury boiled up in Bofur’s normally gentle heart, he nodded stiffly; not wanting to risk being taken back to his cell and leaving his king to suffer at whatever drug the tree shaggers had given him.   
The door was opened and Bofur entered, the heavy wood clunking closed behind him. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with a small table that held a glowing lantern for light, a washbasin with a rag over one side, and a rickety bed were the only furniture in the room. On the bed was his king. He was bare chested with his hands chained above his head to the wall, being forced to kneel on the bed facing the door. He was blindfolded but still had pants on, but Bofur could easily see the evidence of his kings need straining against the fabric. 

Undoing his braids and removing his hat, Bofur approached Thorin, noting the way his chiseled body tensed at the sound of approach. Reaching out Bofur gently cupped his king’s face, bumping their foreheads together in the recognizable dwarven greeting but remained silent. With that action Thorin noticeably relaxed, a soft sigh of relief escaping him at the familiar gesture and the feel of work calloused palms on his skin. It was one of his company they had sent to help him and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or horrified. He began to speak, but one work worn finger was gently placed over his lips to silence him, and a second hand went to his bound appendages. Signing hurriedly in the sign language of the dwarves to him in replacement of speaking. 

‘’’No words my king, the time for conversation will be later when we are away from this place. For now we are not allowed to speak, nor you to know my identity, I pray you can forgive me for what I must do to help you.’’’

Thorin sighed heavily and nodded his assent, trust the elves to make this difficult for them. He blushed slightly at the thought of what would have to occur for his...problem to be fixed, but he would never hold it against whoever was doing this to help him. He said so in their sign language as best as he could with his restrained hands and the reply was tinged with amusement. Then truly there were no more words, as the hands left his face and own palms to trail fiery paths down over his heated and sensitive chest. 

His mystery assistant paid special attention to his peaked nipples, teasing the hardened nubs until moans of pleasure escaped the king’s throat. Then they moved on and slowly so slowly his torso was covered in the soft reverent touches. When the other dwarf reached his waist band Thorin felt the silky slide of unbound hair brush across his stomach with the movement, and when his aching member was released from its confines he gave a hiss of relief. 

Bofur was ecstatic that he was finally being allowed to touch his king in this way, but his heart also ached painfully for the knowledge that this would be the only time. Never the less he decided to enjoy the experience as best he could, and at least he would have the memory to ease him through the many lonely nights of his life. For he would never take a spouse that was not his king, that was how the love of the One worked. When he pulled his loves cock from its cloth prison he looked on it with awe, he had seen the other man before when the company had bathed so he was no stranger to nudity, but he had never seen his king in his full glory like this. 

Gently pressing a kiss to the swollen tip, Bofur reveled in the surprised gasp it pulled from his king, and then equally as gently took the needy member into his mouth. Bofur memorized the feel and the weight and taste of it on his tongue, a soft moan escaping his throat at the very thought of the thickness inside of him. But alas that was never to be, so Bofur merely focused on the task at hand, which happened to be giving his king a stunning release. Swallowing around the nearly too large cock inside his mouth, Bofur inched more of the organ inside his wet orifice, humming a few bars of a tune experimentally to see what sort of reaction it would pull from his king. Going from the pleasure filled gasp and the involuntarily thrust of Thorin’s hips, it was a good thing to do again. Gently gripping his king’s hips, Bofur urged him to keep thrusting and to simply use his throat, to fill him and take his own pleasure. 

Thorin obliged the prodding, easily pushing his hips forward until his cloth covered thighs ground into the other dwarfs face. Because of the pants Thorin couldn’t use facial hair to distinguish which of his companions it was, but at that moment there were very few that he would want to be doing it. Thrusting into the tight hot throat of his helper, Thorin bit back groans of pleasure, he could feel his release rushing up on him and he tried to give a sign of warning to the other and was promptly ignored, instead the other male pulled his hips forward to bury the full length of his cock down his throat and swallowed hard. Thorin came with a strangled curse in khuzdull, his hot seed pouring down the other mans throat in a flood. 

Bofur swallowed it all down with delight, making sure to milk the last drops from his king’s cock by lapping at the sensitive head for a few moments when he was nearly done. Standing shakily, Bofur went to the wash basin and brought back the damp cloth, wiping down his kings sweaty face and chest before his spent member. Then he gently tucked his king back into his clothes and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead in the dwarven sign of blessing and friendship. Trying to ignore the ache in his heart, Bofur crossed the room and retrieved his hat and redid his braids quickly, knocking on the door to tell the guards that he was done. 

Then he was led away from his king, ignoring the calls he could hear from behind him until the heavy wood door closed. 

 

It was not two days later that Bilbo came up with the escape plan that would take them away from that wretched forest, and if Bofur steadfastly didn’t look at his king as much as was polite, and Thorin took to looking much closer at his companions than he had before, no one said a word about it.   
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

The battle of five armies raged about Bofur and the company, the horror and screams and blood of it all a terrible contrast to the sunny disposition of the day. Bofur crashed his mattock into the snarling face of another orc and laughed in the heat of the battle, still in this carnage appearing to not have a care in the world. But he did have a care; in fact he had several, all of them with names. Bifur and Bombur, Bilbo and Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin and Gloin, Balin and Dwalin, Fili and Kili and Thorin. Those were his cares and worries; those were what he fought for that day. Not the mountain not himself and certainly not for some glowing stone. 

His family was what he fought for, what he would give his very life for if it came to that. He was wounded in several places but still he fought on, though his arms burned with each strike and the foes seemed to press closer and closer each time. There seemed to be no end of them, no end in sight for this terrible and bloody war. 

Searching about for each member of the company Bofur smiled at what he saw, none of them had fallen, all of them still fought. Dwalin and Ori with his brothers Dori and Nori all stood in a circle to beat back the foe, Bombur and Bifur were with him of course, as were Oin and Gloin. Balin was with Thorin and Fili and Kili, and Bofur really didn’t know where Bilbo was since the banishment issue. 

Suddenly a scream that Bofur never wanted to hear ripped across the battle field, and turning in horror the toymaker turned warrior saw Azog the defiler flinging the crumpled form of Kili away from his pale scarred towering body. Fili roared in fury and attacked, his desperation to avenge his kin all too apparent, but was brushed aside like chaff to the wind. Then Thorin was there and the two mortal enemies were fighting, but they moved away from the boys who were defenseless on the ground in the carnage. 

A wild anger welled up inside the miner, tears flooding his eyes at the injustice and the horror of what he had witnessed and would still be forced to endure at the end of that day, and hefting his mattock, eyes grim and face a harsh unyielding mask, he charged to his families defense. Just as Bofur reached his king to help with the battle against their hated enemy, Thorin fell from a crushing blow of the mace that the pale orc wielded, but just after his king was downed, so was Azog. His severed head falling to the ground a few scant moments before the rest of the heavy body collapsed to the blood soaked earth. Bofur did not question who had killed the beast, he simply fell to one knee before his king, who could not seem to get up again. 

Bofur could see Beorn the skin changer coming in their direction through the hordes of the enemy still present, and knowing that his love would soon be taken away from there Bofur caught the strong bearded jaw of his One with the hand least covered in filth as their invisible protector defended them from approaching foes. Turning his king’s face up so that Thorin could see his face. Holding his gaze Bofur pressed his chapped and blood stained lips to his king’s forehead, whispering the words only for him to hear. 

“No words my king, there will be time for conversation when we are away from this place.”

Bofur saw the stunned recognition in his king’s eyes, and gave him a lopsided but still bright smile before he released the others face and sprinted away into the fray of death again to go to the fallen princes. He did not look back as Beorn caught up his love and bore him away from the carnage, nor did he give thought to the future. He knew that if he was to die on this battlefield this day, he would fall protecting his princes from any further harm until the breath left his body. 

When he reached their side the sight he found nearly broke his heart, for Fili was standing before his brother and bravely fighting to the last, gravely wounded though the elder sibling was. Bofur cut down the next orc that dared to get too close to his boys and pushed the elder prince twored his brother, yelling at them over the overwhelming level of battle noise to get their backs up against a rock. Then he took his stand in front of the lads, ignoring Fili’s protests and with the strength of a berserker that all who fight to protect those they love possesses, fought the enemy off as they came. 

He fought with the rage of a protective parent and the soul crushing sadness that he had carried the years that he remained by his loves side though he could never have him. And when they could not break through his defense with numbers and lined up the archers of the foul creatures to aim their bows at him and the princes he never gave a second thought to throwing himself over their bodies to shield them from the attack. 

The cry of the eagles arrival started after the shafts had found their way into Bofur’s flesh, the barbs dug deep into his skin as he held himself from crushing the lads under him on the blood and body strewn earth. As the fighting began to ebb from around them, Bofur could feel the madness of battle leave his body and with it the strength that had sustained him. His arms shook with the effort of holding him up and his breath wheezed painfully from the wound of a punctured lung, but still he held his place, acting as a living shield to the boys under his protection. Fili looked up at him with tear filled eyes and stained cheeks; he was holding his brother close to his chest and praying to Mahal that his sibling had not left this world in quiet ragged whispers. 

 

Bofur smiled at the lad, his vision beginning to blur and faze out as his life bled from his body with his blood. Coughing painfully the toymaker caught the elder heirs gaze, and forced his vocal cords to work for him. 

“Lad…do me a…favor...”

His arms chose that time to give up on him, but it was all right because the fighting had ended a few minuets before, so he rolled to one side of the boys and with the last of his strength, propped himself up against a rock so he wouldn’t fall. 

“Give this..to yer uncle for me.”

Slowly he reached up and removed his worn and battered hat that had somehow survived this whole crazy adventure and placed it in Fili’s hands. Ignoring the shocked and dismayed look the younger dwarf gave him at the action. He knew as well as the next dwarf that giving someone your personal signature item was as good as a proposal, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret the admission of his feelings. Slumping against the rock, Bofur looked up twored the sky and marveled at the beauty he found there, for though he was a dwarf, bred to cold rock and deep tunnels beneath the earth, he had also been raised under the sky and could appreciate its wonders. 

“ I..I wish ye..both..all the luck in the world lads. I really do.” 

He could feel his eyes closing, and dimly hear the panicked cries of Fili, but the darkness was beckoning him to its sweet painless embrace, and Bofur had no reason to stay away. So he fell into the blackness and slid away, content that he had protected his lads and had told in a roundabout way his king of his love, so he could leave peacefully into the halls of Mahal for his eternal sleep. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

This was how Thorin found his nephews and the toymaker several hours later when the search parties discovered them, the king had not been as badly wounded as it had first seemed, and was able to move about with a splinted leg and his sword as a crutch. His relief at finding his boys alive was swiftly doused in sudden agony as he caught sight of the form slumped against the boulder next to the lads and Fili’s sobbing didn’t abate but only worsened when he saw his uncle. Wordlessly the elder prince held out the much battered and well loved fur hat to his kin, and the simple meaning behind the offering proved without a shadow of a doubt that Thorin’s heart could now break into a thousand pieces. Taking the hat in his unoccupied hand, the king crushed it to his chest and let his shoulders shake in a silent sob, his grief pouring out of him as fiercely as it had after the battle for Moria when his grandfather and brother fell and his father went missing. 

Oin and several healers were carting his nephews away to be treated as he stood near silent, and that freed Thorin to go to the still and quiet form of his friend and One. Falling to his knees beside Bofur, Thorin turned him so that he lay in his arms, his face angled up to the kings own. Though right now the king under the mountain was not inclined to remember his role, at that moment he was simply a heartbroken dwarrow who had many regrets when it came to the gentle and selfless dwarf in his arms. 

Pressing a kiss to the forehead of Bofur the toymaker, Thorin clutched him close and allowed the wails of his grief to join those that had arisen from the battle field as warriors from each race found shield brothers, friends and family amongst the bodies and let their mourning be known.   
His shoulders shaking with the force of his tears, Thorin looked down on the still smiling face of his One and murmured a quiet farewell to his companion and friend, heedless of his audience in the form of Balin’s silent presence behind him, guarding his charge even after the battle had finished. 

“May you go with honor and peace to the halls of our maker Bofur Broadbeam, and may the fates decide that we should see each other again when it too is my time to join the ranks of the dead and gone; and that I would be granted the chance to speak of my stupidity in hiding the love I have held for you all these years. My One, I shall eagerly await the day when we meet again but for now I must release you to the rest you went to far too quickly but so richly deserve. I fare thee well my friend, know that your name will never be forgotten and you shall rest with my kin as one of the royal house for your deeds.”

When Dwalin came from searching to fetch his brother away and found both his kin and his king seated next to the body of their companion he said nothing, simply called for a stretcher and assisted his friend in carrying the toymaker away from the battle field and back into their home that they had retaken together. The Gates of Erebor closed that day after her king, the loud hollow boom echoing throughout the many halls as the sound faded into the silence. 

Thorin and Dwalin carried Bofur into a chamber that was being used to hold the dead that deserved special recognition, and the rest of the company that was able to stand followed them into the room to mourn their fallen friend. For Bofur had been the only dwarf to fall that day from the company, but while the loss may have been small in size to some, to the group of family that had formed to take back the mountain, it was a great loss indeed. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

From its place on the throne, having been returned by the men after the madness had gone from the King under the mountain; the Arkenstone felt the grief of her king and his kin, and the emotion so shook the mountains heart that a long dormant presence woke in the stone, stirred itself from the slumber it had held, and cast its ‘gaze’ to the group of dwarves in the room. The stone could feel the heartbreak of the king, and a rage filled her at such suffering that the individual had endured in his life. The king of Erebor deserved no more pain, no more loss, and this was likely to slowly kill the dwarf’s soul as it was now missing its other half. The Arkenstone would not allow that to happen to her king, her existence had caused enough suffering already and she would do all in her power to stop the silent tears that fell from the royal and common lines alike that were huddled in that mourning place.


	2. Of Oakenshields and Wooden Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequal to Of Fur hats and Arkenstones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before all credit goes to Tolkien 
> 
> Ok so I just couldn’t leave it at that, just way too sad. I can’t be that cruel to Thorin. Sooooooo here’s the sequel! Hope you guys enjoy!

Of Oakenshield’s and Wooden Toys  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Thorin Oakenshield was not a particularly romantic dwarf. He was optimistic but practical, and held no disillusions as to his opportunities for finding his One. As the exiled king leading a homeless people, across the lands of men he hardly could be bothered with relationships. His duty to his people superseded any wish he might have to search for his One and for years the thoughts about the tug on his heart to search faded away. 

That relative peace was kicked out the door in the instant that Thorin locked eyes with a pair of warm and smiling deep chocolate orbs. 

The decision that this toymaker was exceedingly dangerous was both accepted and rejected simultaneously by Thorin’s heart and mind. On one hand his mind said that he was dangerous to Thorin’s sense of duty and his focus on reclaiming his home. On the other hand his long buried, forgotten and rather lonely heart was crying for joy at his Ones close proximity.   
The next few moments in the others Dwarfs Company sealed the king’s fate. 

He was utterly smitten.

Though his more rational mind was wary of the smiling eyes and gentle personality, Thorin couldn’t help but be at ease around Bofur, who had so generously cared for his wayward nephews when they had wandered away and even dared to intervene on their behalf. 

Soon enough he found himself bringing the boys around to the market square more often, each time he witnessed his One interacting with his nephews only serving to reinforce the growing feelings of possessiveness that appeared every time he saw the toymaker interact with anyone other than his family. 

But Thorin kept an iron bound grip on his emotions and never even hinted at what he felt for the other dwarf that was lurking about under the surface begging to be released. Still as years past and Bofur remained unattached and near Thorin’s little family, the king couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the other sensed their bond and that was the reason he stayed so close. His heart secretly yearned for such a development, but the exiled king ruthlessly put such hopes aside. 

He kept silent through the years that Fili and Kili grew, and when they started the quest and eventually reclaimed Erebor, he also remained silent. Little could he have known that he remained silent for too long, for fate is a fickle thing, and she can always decide to take something that we have had away to show us just how much we miss it when it is gone. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Standing now amidst grieving comrades and family, Thorin’s heart and mind finally agreed on something concerning their One for the first time. 

“We should have told him.”

The cry rebounded though his thoughts endlessly and rode the waves of grief that would never abate. There was an empty place in his mind now where the awareness of his One had resided, waiting for them to be fully joined. Now it was achingly silent, never to fill his mind with its pleasant buzz again.

There was no comfort he could offer the grieving kin of his One, for his own torment was as strong as theirs. None the less he placed a hand on the shaking shoulder of Bombur and murmured a quiet Khuzdull consolation to a numb looking Bifur. 

He could feel the worried gaze of Balin, but he was assured that Dwalin would defend his mental state. 

Dwarves are not silent in their grief, but the royal line was always more reserved than most and as such Thorin had already released the initial torrent of pain that plagued his soul. He was more inclined now to withdraw into himself and suffer in silence. 

When he could bear to be in the room no longer, he went to check on his nephews. Finding them peacefully sleeping only sent a now painfully precious flash of living smiling eyes and the hat now clutched in his hands being placed on a small dark haired head. It was the memory of the day that Bofur discovered their lineage. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Bofur was painting his nephews names on a pair of knights and had requested to know their clan name for the completion of the toys. His nephew’s enthusiastic and innocent reply had made the toymakers eyes bug out of his head. He had looked at Thorin with shock and a bit of awe, and that look had rather pleased the king even if he would never admit it. 

“Yer a Durin? But…that would make ye family royals..”

It had taken two weeks of reassuring the toymaker to get Bofur to speak to them normally again, to remind him that they were his friends and as such equal despite class differences. 

When a time of hardship hit Erin Luid and jobs disappeared into the sunset, Thorin was never so glad to have a friend in Bofur.

With no jobs Thorin struggled to feed his nephews their mother and himself, and while it worked for awhile a dwarf cannot survive on one small meal a day for long. When he collapsed on one of his weekly visits to Bofur’s stalls, his embarrassment was only partly overshadowed by his happiness that someone cared enough to freak out as badly as Bofur did then when the toymaker had looked up at the muffled thumping noise to see his friend on the ground.   
Thorin didn’t remember much of the next few days, only snippets of gentle hands soothing his hurts when they became too much for him to keep silent, feeding him good tasting broth and humming soft tunes to ease his mind when he woke from nightmares of his past battles and dragon fire in the sky. 

Several times he woke from such a nightmare to find himself wrapped securely in blankets and surrounded by gentle and strong arms, keeping him anchored through the sickness that ravaged his body. 

When he finally woke and stayed coherent for a reasonable stretch of time he was in his own bed in the small house he had for his kin. And though he felt as if he had fought off an entire warg pack by himself, the room no longer spun and he wasn’t achingly hungry for the first time in a long while. 

Glancing wearily about, Thorin saw a chair next to his bed, and occupying the chair was Bofur. He was leaning against the bed; arms folded under him for a pillow, and looked utterly adorable. Shaking himself out of such thoughts, Thorin pulled himself upright, a small grunt of protest escaping him at the use of sore muscles. It was enough to wake Bofur, and when he saw Thorin awake, the blindingly bright smile that he sent his friend nearly took the kings breath away. 

Things went back to normal after that, but many times Thorin couldn’t help but regret not telling the toymaker of his feelings for him then.

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

Now sitting in his rooms back in Erebor with his mountain reclaimed and his sworn enemy dead, there wasn’t a fiber in his being that didn’t wish he had confessed then or one of the many opportunities that the following years had provided. 

Thorin was holding the Arkenstone in his palm staring into the multi colored depths of the wondrous gem, yet he could not help but wish for the sight to be replaced by warm brown eyes and up curling braids. Sighing heavily in his longing, Thorin was about to put the stone down when the soft, nearly not there whisper resounded through the room. 

“What would you give for a second chance?”

Thorin startled, looking about the room in alarm for the voice, his hand automatically reaching for Orcrist; but it started again before he could ask any questions. 

“What would you do for him to be returned to you?” 

The words caused an equal amount of joy and wary thoughts inside the dwarven king, for how was he to know who was speaking such hopeful words? 

When the voice spoke a third time, Thorin noticed that the Arkenstone pulsed brightly with each word. Awestruck he cradled the stone in his hands, smiling sadly at his family’s symbol of power that had caused so much grief to his line. 

“What would you sacrifice for your One to live again?”

Sinking down into the nearest seat, Thorin clutched at the stone, hardly daring to hope for what the heart of the mountain offered him with that simple statement. 

“Whatever I can that will not put my people in danger.”

Thorin got the impression that he Arkenstone was pleased, and the stone warmed in his hands, the voice emanating from it infinitely gentle and ancient when it next spoke. 

“Well said King under the Mountain. You have suffered enough in your life and sacrificed much so that your people would prosper. It is time for you to get something in return. All I ask for my help is that you keep my secret until I am needed again. Now. Take me to him.”

Let it be known that kings do not run in their own kingdoms. Yet one moment Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain and Thror and King under the Mountain was sitting in his chair in his rooms and the next he was sprinting down the dimly lit hallways of stone with a fur hat clutched in one hand and the Arkenstone in the other.

Thorin rushed into the room where Bofur was held, finding his One’s kin still sitting around the bed. At his sudden entrance they looked up at him, confusion showing on tear stained faces. He gave no explanation to his intentions, simply placed the Arkenstone on the still chest of his One and stepped back watching for any change. For a few long moments nothing happened and the kings shoulders began to slump in defeat. Then the Arkenstone gave a throb of light and he whispery voice sounded in Thorin’s mind. 

“Fear not, it simply took me a moment to locate him. He was placed in a rather exalted level there and I had to converse with your maker to fully find him, but he is more than happy to return. I fare thee well King under the Mountain, until we meet again.” 

With those words, the glow began to fade away and as it did the flush of life began to fill Bofur’s face and his chest began to rise and fall once more, scrapes and bruises vanishing from skin as if they had never been. 

The startled but joyful cries of Bifur and Bombur barely registered for Thorin, he simply pocketed the Arkenstone and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Bofur’s forehead as the toymaker had done for him on the battle field.   
Warm brown eyes fluttered open at the contact, and blearily blinked up at his king, recognition slowly bleeding into the orbs. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living my friend.”

Thorin’s voice was soft and welcoming; his tone indicating that all that had transpired between them was not forgotten and was not to be tossed aside. The surprise on his One’s face greatly amused the king, and as Bifur and Bombur got over their shock and crowded past him to get to their now living kin in a tearfully joyful reunion; Thorin found himself not minding at that moment. It gave him time to consider how it would be best to approach his One on the matter of their mutual feelings; he knew that he would have to reassure his toymaker that all was well. 

After all he wasn’t just going to let his soon to be consort think that he didn’t want him.   
When Bifur and Bombur had scattered to find the rest of the company to tell them the news, Thorin decided to take the chance offered and handed his One his fluffy hat back. 

Bofur’s face began to fall at the return of the hat, but paused when he saw the good as new state it was in. Placing it on his head with an air of reluctant happiness, he ran his fingers along the brim as he always did, stopping when his fingers encountered something sewn cleverly into the fur lining. Slowly and incredulously he traced the dwarven ruin etched into his hat, a wide smile breaking over his face. Bofur continued to trace the stitching even as he looked shyly up at his king, trying to decide if it meant what he was hoping it did. 

“Do…ye mean it then? What yer saying with this an all.”

The foreign but utterly delightedly smug smile on his king’s face was enough to answer his question, but the gentle press of Thorin’s forehead to his own sealed the thought.

“When you get the chance to escape your relieved kin, come to my chambers and ill show you how much I mean it Bofur.”

The implications that his kings tone and words sent scurrying along Bofur’s thoughts caused a shiver of anticipation to run through him, and the warm Loving look in the royals eyes very nearly made Bofur melt into his embrace right there. 

“I think we’ll finally have time for that long over due conversation.” 

When Thorin saw recognition in his One’s eyes he leaned down and captured Bofur’s lips in a fiercely passionate kiss, pouring his long years of bottled emotions into their embrace. When his One returned the kiss with equal fervor, a possessive warmth swept through the king and he had to fight the temptation to simply stealing his love away for a few days and hide in their rooms with the doors locked. He refrained from acting on the impulse however, because he fully intended to court Bofur properly and lavish him in gifts and attentions as he hadn’t had the chance to do in years prior. 

He relished the feeling of questing fingers digging into his silver streaked mane of hair, seeking an anchor and pressed himself closer to his One, a rough purr climbing out of his throat as the grip tightened. 

For a few more long blissful moments the two of them remained locked in their embrace, but the loud pattering of 11 sets of feet on the stone floor forced them to part reluctantly.   
Thorin however didn’t pull completely away; instead he pressed his forehead to Bofur’s in a gentle act which he held even as the rest of the company rushed into the room. Silence reined for a few moments as his friends witnessed his affectionate display, then the spell was broken and they rushed forward to greet their living comrade. 

Stepping aside for the time being, Thorin allowed a satisfied smile to light upon his face, enduring the knowing looks of the older set of his friends. The time for explanations would be later, for now it was time for celebration. 

It ended up being nearly two days before both Bofur and Thorin could escape their duties to disappear and find each other. When Bofur arrived at his kings chambers, he was nervous as a young stripling on his first date. The acrobatic butterflies in his stomach were really putting on a show, and he really wasn’t sure how he managed to knock on the heavy wooden door. 

When Thorin opened the door to admit his One, the sight nearly took Bofur’s breath away. Gone were the heavy robes and furs of a royal’s daily garb, absent were the weighty chains of gold and mithril and precious gems from his neck, not an ounce of fancy jewelry on his form. Instead Thorin wore simple garb, a soft loose cream tunic and darker sleeping pants were all that adorned his form, and his wild mane of dark hair spilled about his shoulders free but for the simple braids that bespoke of his status. In all he looked much the same as he had when they had lived in Eren Luid, though his expression was infinitely gentler and at peace than Bofur had ever seen it in his memory. 

Thorin offered his hand to Bofur and when the toymaker shyly took it, the king tugged his soon to be consort into his chambers and kissed the back of his hand gently. Leading his slightly shocked love to a padded chair that was near the fire, Thorin sat his toymaker into it and moved to a chair directly opposite his, where a magnificent golden harp sat waiting to be played. 

Settling so that his knees nearly touched his One’s, Thorin picked up the harp and began to play a ballad of love, knowing that words were not quite what the other would need at that moment. Soon enough the music soothed Bofur enough so that he noticed a small intricately carved box sitting on a small table near his elbow. Picking it up the toymaker opened the little box, and there nestled in fine velvet, were two exquisitely smithed hair beads. 

One clearly had the mark of a dwarven hero ruin etched into the surface, as well as signs stating his place in the nobility of Erebor. The other…was an elegant courting bead. Its base was iron and silver, and on each side two images made from pure mithril .One side was a perfect replica of Bofur’s own fur hat, with the Arkenstone nestled safely on its fluffy brim, a chip of the actual stone itself representing its smaller replicate. On the other side was an Oakenshield, with small carved toys placed on its roughened form. Between the two carved sides a ruin to match the one etched into his real hat sat, the lettering glittering brightly from the amethyst gems that bordered it. 

The sign was the dwarven phrase “Most precious of Treasures, My One”.

Looking up at Thorin with tears in his eyes, Bofur caught his kings blue eyes and held them, silently expressing all that he didn’t have the power to verbalize because of his overwhelming happiness. 

When the song ended, Thorin placed the harp aside and knelt before his One, picking up the courting bead and cradling Bofur’s palms in his own gently. Keeping eye contact with his love the king made sure to keep his full attention as he spoke.

“ Bofur, I have waited too long to say this to you, so I shall not wait another moment. You are my One, my heart and soul and my other half. I know that I have not gone about this the right way as I should have many years ago when I first found out, but I can promise you now that from this point on I shall forever be devoted to you, and I will do everything in my power to keep your love. If you would have me, I would be honored to become your spouse.”

As soon as he was done speaking Bofur gave a quiet sob and flung himself onto his king, kissing him deeply and laughing quietly at the royal at the same time.

“Ye don’t have to ask Thorin, it’s always been ye and I don’t care about the past, all I care about is the now and our future together. So yes you daft dwarf, id like to become your consort.”

Thorin grinned and kissed his One back, reveling in the gentle press of lips and pulling Bofur closer into his arms with a happy sigh. This was the way things are supposed to be. He had his love in his arms and his mountain was safe. All was well in his world once more. 

From her place on the thrown, a sleepy Arkenstone let satisfaction well up in her consciousness, she had managed to bring her King peace and happiness, and that is as it should be. She knew middle earth had much to go through yet, but for now, here, there could be peace. Drifting off into the depths of her own thoughts, the stone allowed dormancy to overtake her once more, she was not needed now, but she would keep a tendril of herself open incase she was called upon again to the service of the royal line. 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allright hope you guys like this, If youve any plot bunny prompts id love to hear them, Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Ok! So now that ive made myself cry with writing that… I cant wait to hear back from you guys and see what you think. 
> 
> Ps: if I get enough votes for a sequel I may just have to write one, so comment and tell me if you think I should let something happen concerning this.


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